Lyrics In Bed With Boys - Algebra Suicide

In Bed With Boys

When I was small and arthritic in my crib, I knew Spaniards wanted sleep
While Americans merely needed it.
Now, on warm summer days, boys nip at my neck
Their hands too sweaty to hold and their backs wetting the bed
Boys in bed, boys on the bed, their heads roaring on pillows
And their feet twitching in sleep
I got boys who speak Latin in their dreams;
boys whose faces land in books
Who must be coaxed to the covers.
I got European boys who like cold rooms
And those that like the bushes.
I got boys who think they’re famous
And boys who call me «Sir.»
Boys who are shaped like Z’s
That snap straight when an avalanche of sun comes in the window
And in winter, they’re rolled in sheets that unfurl in the morning and fill the
room with skin